


Captain Doctor

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2005-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atFirefly’s Glow, and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018.  I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onFirefly's Glow collection profile.





	Captain Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

Captain Doctor

## Captain Doctor

Captain Doctor  
By  
**KMS**  
http://hometown.aol.com/kmspider/myhomepage/index.html 

Summary: AU-instead of losing the Battle of Serenity, the Independents won, extending the course of the war. Takes place around the same time as the series, six years after the First Battle of Serenity on Hera. 

* * *

* * *

Prologue

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

Light years away from the smell of gunpowder or the agonies of war, a young girl sits in a white room surrounded by tactical information for a planet called Hera. Maps, armament, troop movement, the complement of men; lists with individual names of personnel currently stationed there. Even a list of names of the opposition believed to be currently sharing the war-torn planet. 

The room has one wall made of mirrors. On the other side sit two very similar men, both gaunt, both with a very sterile air about them. They are watching over the young woman as she pours over the raw data, awaiting her latest report. Recommendations for the Alliance Commander-in-Chief on how best to win this war once and for all. 

Back inside the room, the girl smiles to herself, hiding it behind her unruly mass of dark hair. The strange men with blue hands have made a mistake, and it's one they haven't realized that they've made yet. 

Time to start moving pieces of the puzzle around. Lining them up like billiard balls, one knocking into the next, until the eight ball is sunk and the game is over. 

As much as they think they are using her to their own purposes, she is using them. 

But she must be oh-so-subtle. No dinosaurs to spring on the Alliance. More like mice. Or tiny insects. Butterflies still in their cocoons. For now she must maneuver the meeting of minds. This person needs to meet that person, who in turn helps that person. 

On the outside of it, her recommendations make perfect strategic sense. Of course, these troops are needed at that spot, but the pattern is intrinsically flawed. There is a tactical error imbedded in the overall scheme. One that will lose the war for the Alliance and allow for her own rescue. 

River Tam runs her hand down the column of names, briefly pausing, the pad of her finger passing gently over the typeface as though it were brail instead of standard printer ink. She lets the micro-ridges of her fingerprints absorb the letters, as familiar to her as her own name. Secretly she smiles. She lets the paper flutter to the floor as if it couldn't be of less interest to her, letting them think that she hasn't registered the importance of that one name. 

Tam, Simon. Captain. Doctor 

* * *

Hera: 

Alliance Captain, Doctor Simon Tam, Medical Infantry, 12th Division, leaned exhaustedly against a tent post and closed his eyes. He'd been up for over twenty-four hours and it looked like the volume of incoming wounded would never lessen. 

Shaking off the bone-tiredness, he headed off for a cup of coffee before the ambulances unloaded another batch of surgeries at his door. 

In the distance he could hear the sound of bombs exploding. The vibrations rocked the makeshift infirmary tents, sending shivers of dust down, but few patients complained. Most were still unconscious, awaiting med-evac to off-world hospitals. 

The Alliance had thought they were on the verge of dealing a crushing defeat to the Independents six years ago on this same planet, yet here they were again, on Hera, loyalists and rebels entrenched in Serenity Valley, pounding away at each other. 

He was still a student back when they had thought the Independents were on the threshold of surrendering, but a young soldier, merely a sergeant at the time, had rallied his inherited troops and staged a full-fledged assault against the Alliance generals' headquarters that sent them running. 

Caught utterly by surprise, the Alliance had been routed, withdrawing to a safe distance. Independent air support that had all but disappeared suddenly returned, tearing Alliance assault ships to pieces and turning the tide. 

Instead of peace that day, the Alliance had been handed their collective hats and asked to move on. They had withdrawn, tail between their legs, Hera lost. 

And, now, six years later, the Alliance was back, attempting to take back the high ground. 

He remembered his sister, River, delighting in reading aloud to him all the articles she could find about the young soldier, who had all but been promoted to general that day by his troops. The articles referred to him as Harbatkin, but everyone knew that the name was false. Even Independent Command didn't want to admit that a mere foot soldier had grasp victory from the jaws of defeat, while their own generals had given up. 

Simon gulped his coffee, still a touch too warm, letting it scorch his throat on the way down. He wanted another cup before he headed back in for another twelve-hour session. He hadn't even bothered to change yet, the front of his scrubs still covered with blood from one surgery after another. He'd change to fresh ones before he walked back in again. 

Idly, he wondered how different things would have turned out if the young soldier had been defeated that day. Perhaps he would still be on Osiris, practicing medicine in pristine conditions, on his way to becoming one of the Medical Elect as his parents had hoped. Instead he had finished his residency and had immediately been drafted, despite his father's efforts to the contrary. The Alliance needed surgeons, and gifted, core-trained, trauma surgeons were a prize to be treasured. Not that he felt especially cherished at the moment, he thought ruefully as he refilled his cup, trying not to taste the dust that drifted into it, or see the oily residue that floated on top. 

Another bomb exploded, closer this time, raining more dust down from the canvass overhead. He hoped they wouldn't have to move in a hurry. Surgery on the run was never pleasant, for patient or doctor. 

Simon found a chair near the curtained off operating room, and sat for a moment, closing his eyes, coffee still clutched in his hand. He'd almost drifted off, when a strange noise caused him to open his eyes again. 

He must be dreaming. In front of him stood a black woman, a decade older than himself, covered in dirt and dust from head to toe, a large rifle in her hands. And pointed right at him. 

Simon blinked, squeezing his eyes closed, then blinking them open again. She was still there, looking grimmer than ever -- despite the lack of sleep and an over-tired brain - definitely not a hallucination. She took a step closer, one finger vertical to her lips in a 'stay silent' signal, and tapped his chest with the rifle. She was very real. So was the gun. 

The cup of coffee slid from his numb fingers, the splashback wetting his shins as it hit the ground. He raised his hands, hoping she wouldn't shoot. It was obvious from her lack of gray uniform that she wasn't Alliance. She was Independent. Maybe she just wanted drugs. It wouldn't be the first time a soldier came in desperate to forget their situation. She motioned him to his feet, clutching his collar and pulling him close, rifle tip digging into his throat. 

In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Not a sound or you'll be picking your Adam's Apple off the far wall, dong ma?" 

Simon nodded. 

She gave him a assessing once over. "You're a surgeon." 

It wasn't really a question. Simon nodded. 

"Doctor Tam?" 

Simon's brows furrowed in surprise, and his head tilted, studying her in turn, as he nodded again. 

"You're with me," she said, tugging on his collar, pulling him along. 

"I can't just..." 

She whirled back on him, and he fell silent as the rifle tip dug painfully under his jaw, making him rise up on his toes. "You're coming with me, Doctor. You got any objections and there won't be enough left of you to scrape into a bed pan, got it?" 

She lowered the weapon and he swallowed painfully. 

"Where are we going?" he asked, surprised that his own voice sounded as steady as it did. 

"I got a wounded man needs looking after. Some of our troops have been through here and had good things to say about you." 

"Why don't you take him to your own doctors?" 

"Those last shells hit the medical unit. Recovered some supplies, but most of the staff is finished. Now move." She pulled on him again and he stumbled in her wake. 

"W-w-wait! Why not just bring him here? We've treated rebel soldiers before." 

"Alliance get their hands on this man, they're not likely to want to let go. Now would you like to stay and jaw, or you ready to save a good man's life?" 

Simon opened his mouth to suggest they bring his surgeon's tools, but she yanked him forward again, and then they were outside. 

Night had fallen while he was in surgery and he hadn't even noticed. The falling bombs provided sporadic flashes of light, blinding him as much as they lit the way. Out of the darkness appeared three more figures, dressed in ragged scrapes of clothing, much as the woman, and all armed. They neatly avoided the incoming ambulances and headed toward enemy lines. 

Kidnapped by rebel soldiers so he could operate on one of their wounded. Oh yeah, River was going to love this story. If he survived to tell her. 

His tiredness had disappeared in a rush of adrenaline, and he stumbled over the uneven ground, through the darkness, the four-man squad closing around him. 

"Wash!" the woman called softly. A blond man responded to her call, moving close to her side. "Give the doc your blanket. He's gonna get shot fer sure in those whites." 

Wash nodded and tugged a dark woolen blanket out of his pack, tossing it to the doctor with a grin. "Here ya go, Doc. You're standing out like neon in those scrubs." 

Simon swallowed and wrapped the blanket tightly around his slender frame, making him all but disappear in the moonless night. He certainly didn't want to get shot by his own people during his kidnapping. 

The squad moved into a small gulley, stopping a moment to get the lay of the land. At the woman's hand signal, one of them peeled off to scout ahead. One of the big men beside him moved closer. Reaching down into the dirt, the man scooped up a handful and moved the dirt to Simon's face. 

Simon blocked him with one arm, frowning in confusion. 

"Jayne!" the woman hissed, annoyed. There was too much movement. They were bound to be noticed. 

Jane? The man's name was Jane? 

"That lily-white skin of his is gonna shine, too. Gotta muddy up the pretty some." 

Simon blinked. Muddy up the pretty? Simon glanced at the woman, who nodded at Jayne. The big man reached for Simon's face again, but Simon stopped him a second time. Frowning, Simon scooped up the mud himself and applied it, giving himself a raccoon appearance. God alone only knew how much bacteria he had just willing put on his face. 

Jayne watched him intently, making Simon want to squirm. When Simon finished, he turned to the big man for inspection. Jayne nodded in satisfaction, moving away to scout ahead. 

Simon turned back to find the woman grinning at his scowl. She twitched her head, and he crawled up beside her. 

"Keep you head down and stay close," she whispered. 

Simon nodded. Her luminous, dark eyes peered into the smoky ink surrounding them, and seeing one of the scouts signaling her, she began to move forward. Silently Simon followed, the last squad member coming up behind him. 

They got closer to the nearest checkpoint, and again the black woman signaled him to get down. He saw a flash of a knife blade, and Zoe leaned in close. "Not a word." 

Simon nodded with a gulp, the blade too close for his own liking. In the near distance he saw the man, Wash, at the fence, peeling back a layer of wire. This must have been how they had gotten past the sentries in the first place. A hole was revealed and Wash waved the squad through. 

Running low, they traveled over the no-man's land between embattled sides. The bombing had lessened, thankfully. At least the flashes wouldn't reveal them, making them easy targets for a bullet in the back. Their position in the open was entirely too exposed. 

They were nearing the Independent lines when a shout went up behind them. Suddenly the place was filled with the sound of gunfire from behind. An instant later, cover fire from the rebel line erupted. A large hand closed over Simon's shoulder, urging him to move. 

Breathless, adrenalin rushing through his veins, Simon ran faster, legs pumping beneath him, when a large body impacted with his, and they went down in a tangle. Mortar fire exploded mere yards from where he had been. Close enough to feel the flash of heat. 

Simon panted and looked up into the face of the man who had tackled him, seeing Jayne grinning down at him like a loon, white teeth glowing in the dim light. He had no time to wonder just what kind of lunatics he had been kidnapped by before he was hauled to his feet, and they dashed the last twenty yards, sniper fire throwing up dirt at their heels. . 

The other members of the squad were there ahead of him, the woman covering their flank, a step behind them. The blanket was lost in no-man's land, hot lead pinging against metal barricades as they passed into safety 

Hunkered down behind earthen barriers, Simon took a moment to catch his breath. 

"No time to rest, Doc. Got a man waiting for your attention." 

Simon nodded, and was pulled to his feet, lead through a maze of trenches, deeper into enemy territory. He'd never be able to find his way back even had he been able to see his way. 

* * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

Off in a far corner of the complex that housed River Tam, a lone transcription clerk looked over the scribbled notes that she was to enter into the system. 

Scratching her head over some of the erratic writing, she failed to notice her own clerical error, a simple spelling mistake that, for some reason, her own computer system had been re-designed to overlook. 

Redesigned, mind you, by the same genius whose notes the clerk was transcribing. 

River Tam had noticed that within the last three months, any messages this particular clerk transcribed had failed to correct a simple series of letters. The faint, delighted squeal in the hallway between two clerks about an engagement revealed the reason. 

It had struck River's whimsy to use the addition of the clerk's new engagement ring, which caused her to double the letter 'o' whenever she made certain entries, to her own advantage. 

Knowing the little clerk's ordinary typing skills, River had, meticulous piece by meticulous piece, built an incredible worm virus (unnoticed by all who had seen the pieces) that would, in two months time, attack all communications system on Londonium and render them useless for forty-eight hours. 

While the Alliance would see this as an attack from rebel forces, the loss of supplies during that sensitive period would guarantee the loss of the planet Hera, and signal the end of the war. 

A small salute to her brother would free them both from the heel of the Alliance for all time. 

So it was that, by design, and the weight of a stone, when the little clerk typed the letters 'bob' it always came out 'boob'. 

Only fitting, River thought dearly, considering that there were times when that's exactly what her brother could be. 

* * *

Hera: 

It seemed an eternity later, Simon and the squad exited the trenches and came to an area that was slightly larger, a canvas roof offering only slight protection from the elements. Makeshift beds filled with moaning men and women lined every flat point available. 

The black woman kept a hand on Simon's forearm, pulling him to a man lying apart in a far corner, a huge man with an enormous beard tending him. Dropping to her knees beside him, she dragged Simon down too. 

She nodded to the bearded man. "Thanks, Monty." 

Monty nodded back sadly. "No change, Zoe. The bleeding's stopped but he won't be able to move without surgery. Did what I could to recover supplies." 

Zoe nodded, never taking her eyes from the unconscious man as she leaned closer and spoke to him. 

"Sir, I've brought a doctor." 

The man's startling blue eyes opened wearily. "Zoe," he said softly. 

Simon scrubbed his hands against his soiled white pants, trying to get off as much dirt as he could before he reached for the bloody bandage over the man's chest. Lifting a corner, he could see the wound underneath. He dropped it back down and turned to Zoe. 

"I'll need a clean place to work. Water, soap, surgical tools, and light. Lots of light." Simon scratched at mud on his face. "I'll want to clean up a bit, too, before I start." 

"There's others need you more," the wounded man said. 

"Hush, Sir, and let the doctor work." Zoe turned to Simon, signaling one of the surviving corpsman to her side. "Get a place ready for surgery and show the doc where he can clean up." 

The man nodded and led the doctor away, a man with a gun shadowing him. Simon discovered they had a makeshift operating room ready, and had managed to salvage as much as they could from the surgical unit that had been bombed out. 

He was shown to a bucket of fairly clean water and scrubbed down as much as he could. They had no clean scrubs, so he took off his tunic and turned it inside out. Thankfully they had managed to retrieve surgical gloves. 

Finally ready, he signaled them to bring in his patient. He was still arguing with Monty and Zoe about getting treated first, but the woman was right. The bleeding had stopped, but that wouldn't last long if he moved about. A simple wound that would kill him if he was allowed to bleed out. He needed help, and he needed it fast. They all did. Simon was surprised the man had the strength or breath to argue. 

"Hush, Mal," Monty scolded. "Let the boy do his work." 

Simon expected to have to work without a nurse, but was surprised when Zoe cleaned up, and slipped on a pair of gloves as well. 

"I've helped with a fair share of wounds, Doc. I'll do what I can." 

Wash and Jayne had followed her in, both still armed, but their rifles slung over their backs. They were given the duty of holding the flashlights, along with another of the squad, a man named Tracy, who had brought up the rear on their way in. 

The patient was still arguing when Simon sedated him into silence, working efficiently to repair the damage. 

"He's going to need blood," Simon said as he neared the end of the surgery. The patient had bled too much, in his opinion, even before the surgery. 

"Wash is a universal donor," Zoe nodded to the blond man. 

Wash must have had to donate before. He set down the light, and efficiently began to assemble the necessary implements, all but sticking himself with the needle. 

Simon closed the wound and placed a sterile bandage over it. The patient was moved back to his former bed, Wash sitting nearby, and the transfusion was started. Simon indicated to him just how much he should give, then turned back to the surgery. 

Already another patient was waiting for him. Stripping off the used gloves, he tugged on a fresh pair and began. 

* * *

Commander Jubal Early didn't like Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. The man was too cocky and his squad too loyal by half. They'd follow the sergeant to hell and back, completely ignoring command structure the whole while. Well, most of them anyway. Some of them were getting just damn tired of the cowboy antics. 

"He's been shot," the spy standing before him stated. "We went over to the other side and snatched ourselves a doctor and brought him back." 

Reynolds' team had risked too much to save the dammed Sergeant. Didn't hardly seem right that a single man could command such loyalty. 

The Commander looked up at the informant before him and considered his options. 

"So he's got himself a doctor operating on him now?" 

"Doc finished with him. Sarge is resting. Doctor's working on everyone else that got hurt in the bombing." 

Early nodded in satisfaction. 

He may not be able to come at Reynolds directly but there was nothing preventing him from acquiring their new prisoner, and interrogating an Alliance officer to within an inch of his life. That would be strictly within his rights as a Commander. 

Early looked up and smiled and the spy before him. "And your payoff?" 

"You know what I want." 

Nodding again, Early reached down, picking up the payment and slapping it down on the desk in from of him. 

"Now, get out of here and don't let them know that you've talked to me." 

The man grabbed his metaphorical 'thirty pieces of silver', rushing out of Early's headquarters without a backward glance. 

"Crow," Early yelled, "Gather together a team and a scout. We got us a bit of hunting to do." 

Sometimes it was best not to attack an embedded position from the front. 

* * *

Battlecruiser Blue Shield Orbiting Above Hera: 

An elderly black man leaned back in his chair and studied the latest missives from headquarters. 

He could almost see a pattern emerging, but even an old logistics officer like him just couldn't wrap his mind around it. It haunted him, this elusive pattern. 

He reached behind him, pulling open an old style filing system, rummaging around until he found a set of older orders. 

If he could just find the pattern, he believed he could understand where the Alliance army was being led. Despite the added data, the answer still eluded him. 

He had the distinct impression that they were being set on a course that would lead to the end of the game, but he had no proof. 

Colonel Book leaned back in his chair, the old leather creaking almost as loud as his old bones, and took a sip of coffee. Time would tell, and the end of the war was worth the wait. 

* * *

Hera: 

Simon opened his eyes when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. 

"Come on, Doc. Time to get some shuteye." 

Simon blinked stupidly up at the big rebel as Jayne tugged him away from the operating table. He had stitched his last patient, then had shut his eyes for just a moment as they had taken the man away. Apparently he had fallen asleep standing up. He was so tired that he felt punch drunk. 

"Come on," Jayne said with unexpected kindness, pulling off the bloody gloves, and sheep-dogging him to a bed like he was a child, near the first man he'd operated on. Wash had long since finished with the transfusion and was propped up against the earthen walls, fast asleep, mouth open as a soft snore leaked out. One hand on Wash's knee, the other on the wounded man, Zoe sat, keeping a watch over both of them. 

Monty had disappeared. 

Dawn had come and gone a long while ago, but the sky was so blackened with cloying, sooty smoke and gray clouds that the sunlight only filtered down to them in a vague, disinterested way. 

Jayne settled him onto a makeshift bed and handed him a brightly colored hunk of protein cube and a canteen of water. Simon held them in either hand, staring mindlessly at them, to tired to think what he was supposed to do with them. 

Jayne hunkered down in front of him, and pushed the hand holding the protein toward his mouth. 

Oh. Food. He nibbled at a corner, then discovered he was ravenous, taking great bites interspersed with sips of water. It all disappeared in a few mouthfuls. 

He could hear Jayne chuckling at him, and looked up to see him exchanging grins with Zoe. Embarrassed by his lack of manners, he could feel his ears turning red. That only made them grin more. 

"Get some sleep, Doc," Zoe instructed him, and Jayne gave him a little push. Too tired to object, he collapsed against the bed, and felt a blanket flutter down over him. 

Almost cross-eyed with fatigue, the last thing he heard was Zoe's voice. "Ya done good today, Doc." 

* * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

Another tactical flexi slid across the table in front of her. The number of wounded from both sides, the destruction of an Independent medical tent, the unexplained absence of an Alliance surgeon, the discovery of a hole in the perimeter fence between Alliance forces and the rebels. 

Yes. Subtle chess pieces. The white king was in play. She'd have to watch his back. She'd let the black queen force his position across the board, but only so that he would come face to face with his mirror piece. 

She needed to have the white king and the black king on the same side of the board. 

The secret smile was back as River wrote out her recommendations. 

* * *

Hera: 

Zoe had to admit, she'd been surprised by the young doctor. Sure, she'd heard rumors, rumors were the lifeblood of every army, but it wasn't every day that the rumors were so truthsome. It was a well known secret among the rebels that anyone who came under the care of Doctor Tam received the same level of competent healthcare, regardless. The boy had proved his worth, despite his Alliance background and Core affiliations. And turned out to be an honorable man, more interested in the health of his patients than in the cut of their uniforms. More than a little surprising, all in all. 

Nice to see that both sides could produce good men. It bode well for the future. And with any luck, the brevity of their time left on this hellhole. 

Zoe looked around at the men sleeping under her protection. Her sergeant, with whom she had gone through just about everything together. Friends, comrades, brothers under the skin. Everything but lovers. For that she patted the man on her other side, shifting a little so that Wash shifted in turn, and his soft snore disappeared. She smiled fondly at her husband, having never expected to discover such a glowing spirit during the long years of war. But one shore leave on Boros, and there he was, telling her stories of flying, and making her chuckle aloud when she'd come to believe that her laughter had been mortally wounded on the battlefield. 

Not many knew it, but Wash had been instrumental in those last days when they had fought the first Battle of Serenity Valley. 

Taking everything on faith, he had followed orders that she had passed on to him herself, and had helped turn the tide of the battle. For his efforts, his ship had been shot down and Wash had been stranded on the other side of the ever-shifting enemy lines. 

She remembered giving Mal a hard look that day, one that said, 'don't make me choose', and they had gathered a small crew together, consisting of Mal, Monty, Hendricks (replacing Bendis, who caught a bullet when the ships were landing) and herself. Jayne had long since replaced Hendricks whom they lost to sniper fire. Together they had raided the other side and in the confusion, rescued her future husband. Wash had only managed to break his wrist, of all things. 

She'd taken him to her bed that day, and had married him the next. 

Zoe looked down at the sleeping young doctor who had just saved over a dozen lives, including Mal's, and smiled. 

Looked like they had themselves a new honorary member of Mal's Browncoat Renegades. 

* * *

Commander Early had sent his spies into the makeshift hospital earlier that morning, but had been run off by Monty. Another of Reynolds' lap dogs. 

That was alright with Early. Their infiltrator had been there just long enough to catch a glimpse of Reynolds' pet doctor. 

Eventually the doctor would be moved and outside Reynolds' protective bubble. He'd make his grab then and just see what the Alliance was up to this week. 

* * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

For a moment she wondered if she hadn't made a grave error. One that would cost her brother his life. 

She looked down at the pencil clutched in her hand and fiercely began scribbling on a new sheet of paper. 

Too many variables. The rooks were acting like bishops. Another pawn trampled underfoot. No. No. 

She'd have to redo the math, make it work. Send in a Knight. The game called on account of rain. Meteorological input. Yes. That would work. 

Another note was passed along to the blue hands. 

* * *

Hera: 

It was raining when he awoke. Raining hard. 

The canvas roof overhead only managed to protect them from direct hits of the sharp, stinging drops. All around them, rivulets ran down into the manmade trenches. The blanket that Simon had fallen asleep on was soaked, and so was he. His own shivering had woken him up. 

Simon sat up, rubbing his eyes with curled fists, blinking in bewilderment for a moment until his adventures from last night came back to him in a rush. 

He looked over at the man whom he had been kidnapped to help. His color was better and they'd managed to find some boards to slip under his bedding, raising him up out of the rainwater and mud. Reaching out a hand, he took his pulse, counted his breaths, and felt for a temperature. The man was doing better than he had any right to under these circumstances. 

The woman, Zoe, and Wash, had gone, but another squad member, Tracy, sat on the other side of the patient, digging into a can of beans. Catching sight of Simon, he lifted his spoon in greeting, then kept right on eating, his rifle tucked within easy reach between his knees. Curiously, Tracy had the newest boots that Simon had seen since he had been on Hera. Simon tugged the semi-wet blanket that had been thrown over him tighter around his shoulders. 

It was eerily quiet. Rain generally dampened sound, but the shelling and exchange of gunfire had stopped as well. Water landing on canvas and the moans of hurting men were the only muted noises. The temperature had dropped, along with the rain, and someone had attempted to make a fire in the middle of the makeshift hospital. It put out more smoke than heat. 

Maybe someone had convinced the generals that it was just too damn wet for war. 

Simon tiredly rubbed his face and looked down at his filthy scrubs, wondering if he could manage to get a change of clothes from somewhere. A sneeze caught him by surprise, and he could feel that he was starting to catch a cold, throat scratchy, building pressure behind his eyes making him squeeze them shut. Considering his run-down condition, and the chilly weather, not entirely unexpected. 

"How long have I been asleep?" Simon asked Tracy. Tracy managed to raised four fingers of the hand clutching his spoon in response, mouth too full to answer with words. There was something unsettling in Tracy's eyes when he looked at Simon. 

Turning away, and getting to his feet, Simon tried to brush as much dirt off himself as he could, then pulled his blanket tight around him again. 

"Where ya going, Doc?" said a voice from behind him. 

Simon turned to find Jayne approaching. Simon shrugged. 

"Could do with a latrine. And clean clothes. And something to eat, for that matter." Something about him seemed to amuse Jayne to no end. He always seemed to be grinning at him. 

"Before we get to that, got a question to ask ya," Jayne said, tugging on his elbow and dragging him back into the curtained off operating room. 

"What is it?" Simon shifted from foot to foot, trying to restore circulation to his feet. 

Jayne began to tug at his belt, "Got me a little problem with my pecker, Doc." 

"Whoa!" Simon blinked at him. "No need to show me. Is it green?" 

Jayne pulled his pants away from his waist, tenting them forward so he could peer down. "Naw, my pecker's still its natural purty color." 

Simon rolled his eyes. "I mean," he said with great patience, "Is the discharge green?" 

"Oh, yeah. Pretty nasty looking." 

Simon had seen a hundred cases if he had seen one. He turned and rummaged around among the salvaged medicines. "You've got the clap. Did they manage to save any penicillin?" 

"Gorram woman said she was a virgin. Seemed a might too frisky for a first timer." 

Simon had to chuckle despite himself at the put-upon disgust in Jayne's voice. He found a bottle and a syringe, and filled it with the correct dosage for a man of Jayne's size. "Any allergies?" 

"Nope." 

Turning back, he pointed to the operating table. "Bend over and drop your drawers. Just a hip, I won't need any more than that." 

Jayne did so and Simon gave him the shot. 

"Yeouch!" 

"You can pull them up now," Simon said, turning away, and disposing of the needle. 

He turned back, and Jayne was buckling his belt. 

"You might consider wearing a condom in the future," Simon instructed him. 

"Ah, hell, Doc, we can barely get fresh water out here, where the hell am I gonna pick up condoms?" 

Simon looked back at the meager supplies, turning back with a helpless shrug. 

"Come on, Doc," Jayne said, slinging one arm over Simon's shoulders, the extra burden almost staggering the young doctor. "Let's go to the mess and get us something ta eat. Latrine's on the way." 

"That'd be great." Simon looked down at himself. "I could use a change of clothes, too, if it's available." 

"We'll have to talk to the quartermaster about that. Though I doubt that little weasel, Badger, will give away anything without a trade." 

"Maybe you could ask him about condoms." 

Jayne grinned and released him, heading out of the tent. 

Simon pulled the blanket over his head, using it as a shield against the rain. They were halfway there, sloughing knee deep in mud, when a group of soldiers stepped in front of them, rifles raised in their direction. 

Simon slid to a halt, boots slipping in the muck, raising his hands further in the air, but not releasing the protection of the blanket. 

"We'll take him from here, Cobb," one of the men, half his face covered in an elaborate tattoo, growled at Jayne. 

"What ya all talking about, Crow. Zoe told me to get the Doc fed up before we take him back." 

"Ain't goin' back." 

Simon could feel the blood drain out of his face, and his stomach did a summersault. 

"What?" Jayne slung his rifle forward. "Doc done right by us, Crow. Fixed the Sarge real good." 

Four rifles cocked loudly, all pointing in their direction. Simon sneezed, then shrank away from the sudden attention it brought him. 

"And he's been here long enough to report back to them what's tryin' to kill us." 

"He came in at night, then operated all day, then fell asleep. What the hell's he gonna tell 'em? How many sheep he counted?" 

"Got my orders, Cobb. Commander Early wants him taken to the Vaults." Crow nodded to his men. 

Jayne stepped between Crow and Simon. "That crazy bastard don't give a goushi about us. Doc here operated on over a dozen people last night. All ours, hurt and dying." 

Someone behind Simon knocked the back of his knees with a rifle and Simon grunted and fell onto his knees, now hip deep in cold, slimy muck. The blanket was taken from his hands and flung away into the mud. The chilling rain soaked him in seconds. 

"Hands on your head, boy," someone behind him ordered. 

Simon did as he was told, stinging raindrops blinding him. 

"Sarge won't like this at all, Crow." 

"He can take it up with the Commander. Let them fight it out. We'll take good care of the pretty boy." 

A rifle butt nudged him in the back, and Simon shivered uncontrollably in the mud, glancing at Jayne's face as the big man stepped away. The mercenary looked troubled, but made no more objections on his behalf. 

Simon was hauled to his feet; arms bound by ropes behind his back, and lead away, now a prisoner of war. 

* * *

'Oh, diyu,' Jayne thought. Zoe was gonna kill him. And if she didn't, the Sarge was likely to just as soon as he woke up. 

Jayne hadn't taken much of liking to the doc when he'd first seen him. Too clean. Too rich smelling. Too Alliance. But having the boy stand up for himself when Jayne had wanted to muddy his face had earned a bit of Jayne's respect. And seeing that pretty face looking back at him like a raccoon had been worth the small show of defiance. Turned out the doc was good for a laugh. 

Standing there holding a lamp for the doc while he'd rummaged around peoples' insides hadn't hurt either. Boy knew what he was doing, and had shed his scared ways like a cloak when he worked, instead becoming sure of himself and softly giving instructions to those helping out, and layering on gentle praise where it would do the most good. Made people want to do as he asked. 

Jayne had shifted off of lantern duty three times before Zoe had ordered him to finally go back to pick up the boy and put him to bed. The 2IC had been right, boy was dead on his feet. It was almost funny to watch him being so easily led. Reminded him of a pretty toy his youngest sister had when she was just a kid. You could flex its leg, elbows and knees, and the toy would stay in that position. Doc, after twelve hours of surgery, was just like that. Push the protein near his face and he suddenly remembered how to eat. Push him over, and his eyes closed automatically. Just like the doll. 

Now that he thought on it, seemed the doll's eyes were the same color as the doc's, too. 

And now he'd up and lost him. To Commander Early, of all people. How the hell that liumang had found out about the doctor, Jayne didn't even want to guess. Then again, there had been dozens of people in and out of the tent since last night. Anyone could have told him. 

The Commander and his chief henchman where two of the meanest hundans that it had been Jayne's misfortune to meet. 

And now they had the boy. 

Jayne cursed the mud, and the rain, and officers in general, as he turned and hurried out to find Zoe. 

* * *

Commander Jubal Early looked down at the shivering surgeon tied to a chair before him. 

It didn't sit well with him that Reynolds' team had dragged this Alliance doctor across enemy lines so that he could operate on their man. Didn't sit well that the man had clamed up the minute they'd snatched him. 

Early looked down at him and snorted. Doctor! The boy was barely more than a child! But then again, so were most of their own soldiers. 

"Tell me about troop movements!" 

The young doctor merely shivered harder in response, eyes focused inward. 

"I want to know where they plan to hit us next!" 

The doctor sneezed. 

The Commander stepped away, nodding to Crow. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the room, and the Commander turned back, signaling his man away. 

"You can make it easy on yourself, Doctor. Are they planning on going north?" 

One eye swelling, and his bottom lip bleeding, the doctor swallowed hard. "I don't know anything. I'm just a doctor." 

"Surely the Alliance keeps their medical personnel informed and ready to move. Have you been ordered to prepare for a change of location?" 

Early picked up a large knife off a nearby table, pointedly inspecting the blade. 

"I don't know. I'd been in surgery for over twenty hours when your people grabbed me. I can't even tell you how long I've been here." 

Jubal grabbed a handful of the doctor's thick, dark hair and yanked backwards until his slender neck was stretched. He leaned close, young frightened blue eyes darting in his direction. The flat of the blade slid over the boy's cheek until the tip hovered over one blue eye. A quick press forward and the boy would easily lose an eye. 

"Then I really have no need of you, do I, Doctor?" 

The boy didn't respond, just gulping down his fear instead. "I can't help you," he said quietly. 

Jubal released him, nicking the boy just under his eyebrow as he did, ignoring the boy's small gasp. "No, you can't," he responded thoughtfully. 

The Commander looked over at his men, giving them a nod, then leaving the room. 

Choked cries of pain chorused his exit. 

* * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

This wasn't right. This wasn't part of the plan. Someone had bent the rules. 

River Tam poured over the names of known Independent officers. 

There. That's what she had missed. 

But she could use this. Forge the bonds tighter. 

Quickly she began scribbling notes, instructions and orders. 

There was a rogue piece on the board and she'd have to maneuver around him. The black king would have to come to the assistance of the white king. 

Soon she'd have to move her own rogue piece into play. 

* * *

Hera: 

They dropped Simon into a pit of sorts. Surrounded by a circular cement walls, a small grill above for light and air, and a metal grill for a floor. Below the floor narrowed into an abbreviated cone, where bodily waste accumulated, instead of a bathroom. The grill floor kept the prisoner from standing in his own filth. The opening above was at least six feet over his head when standing. The whole thing was buried into the ground with barely the covergrill above the earth. Altogether, it was like a cylindrical coffin. A smelly, cold, up-ended coffin. 

The diameter inside barely allowed Simon to stretch out his legs while in a seated position. Lying down and curled up on his side was more comfortable, or he could stand upright. They'd taken his boots, so standing meant the grillwork left impressions in the soles of his feet, and no boots meant his feet were cold all the time. He wished he hadn't lost the blanket. Cold, dirty, wet, tired, and sore. Simon had never been so miserable in his entire life. His cold had gotten worse. He could feel it moving into his chest, attacking his lungs, soon to be a full-blown case of pneumonia. His fever was on the rise. They hadn't given him water in hours and he was starting to feel the effects of dehydration, too. Sometimes it didn't pay to be a doctor, cataloging each symptom and knowing what the next stage of illness would look like. 

He tried to focus on happier things. He and his sister, picking what they thought were wild berries on the Camberson's estate, graduating in the top three percent of his class from Medacad; trying to decipher the last cryptic letter from his sister. 

They had tried to keep in touch, but between the new Academy she was attending on another world, and being in the trenches on Hera, mail call was sporadic at best. 

He was starting to get concerned about her. Her letters were getting stranger and stranger. He'd even sent off a letter through the Cortex to his parents expressing his concern. The letter he got back from them hadn't reassured him. They had merely dismissed his concerns, sure that his sister was playing word games at his expense. He was beginning to suspect that the letters were encoded. With what, he didn't know. And he hadn't found a quiet moment to figure it out. 

Simon shifted position again, trying to get comfortable. His head was pounding. He would rather have sat with his head on his knees, but the iron grillwork dug into his butt, and if he scrunched up that much, his bruised ribs ached and made him short of breath. He prayed he wouldn't have another coughing fit. The last one nearly killed him. 

A shadow passed overhead, and Simon glanced at the grill above his head, anxious that another guard would amuse themselves by using the grillwork as a latrine. Again. 

As cold as it was, he wondered if he should wish for more rain or less. More tended to fill the bottom of the cell, lifting the sewage closer, but it gave him water to drink, or rather, moisture he could lick off the walls. 

The shadow above turned into full darkness, and Simon heard the grill above open with a clank and a curse. 

Blinking into the darkness, he tried to scrunch back as a figure leapt down to join him in the cell. 

Shaking like a leaf, both from cold and from terror, Simon sat up and stared at the man in front of him. The darkness and the small light that was attached to the man's clothing, blinded Simon, obscuring the man's features. The figure's hands reached for him, and Simon's jerked his own up defensively. 

"Hey, easy there, Doc. We just came to get you." 

"Jayne?" 

Simon had never felt so relieved to see an Independent soldier in his life. 

Jayne hunkered down in front of him, and reached for him again. 

Simon stared blearily at him, wondering if he'd been dehydrated enough to have hallucinations, then wondering why he would be hallucinating about the big mercenary. He would have shook his head to clear it, but each time he did, it made him dizzy. 

Above them a voice urged Jayne to 'get the hell on with it', making Simon wonder what 'it' was. Were they here to get him out, or to kill him? 

If they wanted him dead, all they had to do was leave him where he was. This place was bound to kill him, and soon. 

"What are you doing here?" Simon croaked. 

"Getting you the hell out. What did ya think? It's Visitin' Day?" 

Simon snorted despite himself, causing a coughing fit that had him holding his ribs in agony. 

Finally able to catch his breath, he found himself on his feet, Jayne holding his shoulders, keeping him standing. 

"You sound pretty bad, Doc." 

Simon nodded wearily, not trusting himself to speak. 

"You two having a tea party down there?" scolded a voice from above. 

Jayne glanced up. "He's pretty bad off, Sarge. He's sick. Don't think he'll be able to run. And they took his boots." 

"Hoist him up and let's have a look at him. And hurry," the voice responded. 

A rope dropped down to dangle between them and Jayne grabbed it. 

"Think you can climb up, Doc?" 

Simon held his left hand in front of him. "They broke my fingers. I can't grab it." 

Jayne shined his light down onto Simon's hand, cursing quietly. They hadn't broken all of his fingers, just the last three on his left. Giving the rope an angry yank, Jayne called upward to give him more play. 

Taking the extra rope, Jayne began to tie it around Simon's waist. 

"Ribs!" Simon yelped quietly. 

Jayne huffed in disgust, and quickly made a loop for Simon's foot. "Step in, and wrap your arms around the rope as best ya can." 

Simon stepped on with one bare foot while Jayne steadied him, giving the rope another vigorous yank, and telling those above to haul him up. 

He cleared the opening and hands hauled on his arms, pulling him out the rest of the way, and lowering him to the ground. He was wheezing by the time they dropped the rope back down and got Jayne out. 

He was picked up again, Tracy supporting him on one side and the blond with the laughing eyes, Wash, on the other. Nearby lay the unconscious body of one of his guards. 

"Let's get a move on, people!" 

Simon looked over at the voice and saw the man who he had recently done surgery on. "Hey, he's not supposed to be up yet," Simon wheezed, then coughed. 

"Told you," a feminine voice smugly called out to her commander. Zoe. 

Beside him, Wash chuckled. "It'll take more than a gaping chest wound to slow down Mal, Doc. The man's too damn stubborn to die." 

"Too damn pretty, Wash," responded Mal's laughing voice, overhearing them. "I keep telling you, I'm just too damn pretty." 

Simon could feel Wash's shoulders shake with a chuckle. 

They barely let his feet touch the ground as they darted away, losing themselves among the trenches again. For the life of him, Simon couldn't figure out how either side kept track of their men, lost as they were in this maze of dirt; like human-inhabited rabbit warrens. 

Once thoroughly lost, they finally came to a bombed out building, and the squad was signaled to stop. Breathlessly, Simon dropped down to the ground, holding his ribs and gasping for air between choking coughs. A coat was draped over his shoulders, and a hand rubbed soothing circles against his back until his spasming lungs could be brought under control again. He looked up to find Zoe's sympathetic dark eyes on him, where she'd taken Wash's place. 

"Ya okay, Doc?" 

Simon nodded shakily, and Wash handed him a canteen of water. Simon nearly sucked it dry in one gulp before Zoe forced him to lower it and take smaller sips. 

The man he'd operated on hunched down in front of him, giving him an appraising once over. "You look worse than I do, Doc." 

"Y-you had better c-care," Simon shivered. 

The man smiled in genuine amusement. "I did at that." He stuck out his hand to Simon. "Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. I'm right grateful for all ya done." 

Simon tentatively lifted his own right hand, feeling it grasped warmly, before huddling back on himself. 

Reynolds frowned at him, then glanced at Zoe. "We'd best get those fingers wrapped, Zoe." He turned away. "Jayne, see if you can find the doc some shoes. Socks, too." Reynolds turned and glanced back at the young man. "In fact, a whole new outfit if you can manage it." 

"I'll see what I can do, Mal. He is getting a bit ripe." 

If his nose wasn't so stuffy, Simon might have noticed that for himself. 

"Take Tracy with you." 

"Sure thing, Sarge!" Tracy acknowledged, a little too eagerly. 

Simon shivered again, and Zoe directed him to slip his arms into the sleeves and zip up the jacket. Zoe had Tracy find some small sticks before he left, and she used them to brace his fingers, tying his broken fingers to them as straight as she could. 

She fished into her pockets and pulled out a couple of packets of medicine. She opened them for him, then slipped them between his lips, afraid he would drop them in the dirt before he could manage them with his broken fingers, or shaking hands. She pressed the canteen into his hands again, and he washed down the pills. 

"Sorry about all this, Doc. You did us a good turn and got treated like crap for it. Didn't mean for that to happen." 

Simon blinked tiredly at her. "What happens now?" 

Reynolds was back, hunkering down in front of him. "With a little of God's good help, we're getting you back to your own side." 

"Really?" 

With a straight face, Reynolds replied, "Naw, Doc, we've decided to keep ya." 

Off the doctor's wide-eyed look of horror, and desperate glance at Zoe, Reynolds barked out a laugh. "Just kidding. Get a little sleep, Doc. We'll wake you when the supplies get here." 

* * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

It was time to send a new player onto the field. Someone reliable. Dependable. An old soldier. 

The old one was careful. That's how he had lasted so long. Careful and deserving of respect. He didn't have the flamboyance of younger men but he knew how to get a job done; quietly and discreetly. 

That's what River needed now. Discretion and skill. 

* * *

Hera: 

"What do you want in return this time?" Early demanded, glowering at the spy standing before him. 

Reynolds had snatched his pet doctor right out of the Commander's hands. Those lazy guards were going to be made to pay for their incompetence. But not nearly as much as Reynolds and the doctor would. 

"A transfer. I want off this rock." 

Doable, Early nodded. And well worth it for the information. Besides, the traitor would never see another sun. This man's army didn't need a soldier who didn't respect his superiors. 

"Consider it done, son." 

* * *

Simon woke to the smell of food cooking. He sat up sleepily, looking through the flap at the cozy encampment that the squad had set up. Someone had erected a small tent, and they had actually moved him into it while he slept. It was a bit disconcerting to find that he had been moved unaware. 

He had been covered again and left on a sleeping bag. A change of clothes had been rounded up and a bucket of water and a towel had been left near the opening. 

He got up to wash and was half naked when Zoe slipped in the tent with him. He gave a small yelp of surprise and pulled the towel in front of him, making her chuckle at him. 

"Don't worry, Little One, your virtue is intact." 

Outside the tent, he could hear Wash joining her laughter. 

He gave her a mild glare and she just grinned unrepentantly at him, and held out more pills. 

"I wanted to take a look at those ribs before you got dressed." 

Giving up, he turned back to the bucket and awkwardly finished splashing water over himself to get clean. She took the towel from him and guided him back to the sleeping bag, making brisk work of drying off his back before handing it back to him, then running a hand down his sides to gauge his injuries. The bruises were dark, standing out stark against the pale skin. 

"They're not broken, just bruised," he told her, shivering as she skimmed fingers over his back, raising gooseflesh. 

"Pretty nasty bruises, but you'll live." 

"Thank you, Doctor," he replied sardonically. 

"Smart ass," she gave it right back at him. She held out the pills again, and handed him a canteen. 

He swallowed them, and she laid her hand against his forehead. 

"Fever's down," she informed him, and tossed him a shirt. "How's the chest?" 

Simon experimentally took a deep breath, relieved to do so without falling into a bout of coughing. He gave her a nod. 

"Get dressed. Dinner's almost ready. Jayne caught a rabbit." She left without another word. 

A rabbit? Out here? In the midst of a battleground? Hare must have had a death wish. 

By the time he emerged, he felt cleaner than he had been in days. Dressed in clean clothes, and 'liberated' boots on his feet, surrounded by an overlarge coat, he was starting to feel human again. 

Wash waved him over to a spot near the cooking fire, handing him a plate of stew as soon as he was seated. Around him sat most of the rest of the squad, including the Sarge. Simon let their casual joking roll over him, feeling as though they had somehow adopted him, like a stray puppy. 

He found he was hungry, and couldn't bring himself to stop eating long enough to answer any of the jokes or questions that were flung at him. He looked up from his plate to see Reynolds eyeing him. 

"A mite hungry, Doc?" 

"Afraid I haven't had anything solid in..." Simon trailed off. "How... how long was I in..." He paused again, not knowing how to describe his cell. 

"They call 'em The Vaults. No way in, no way out." 

"Is that where you keep all prisoners of war?" Simon said with distaste, shuddering when he remembered the atrocious conditions. 

"No," Reynolds mouth tightened. "That's a little trick of that jackass Commander that got his hands on ya. Sorry about that, Doc. You deserved better." 

Simon nodded, taking a hunk of bread that Wash passed to him. He nodded his thanks to the man, and bite into it, swallowing before asking, "Are you planning on sending me back?" 

Reynolds nodded. "Soon as we can figure out a way to get you through both our lines and yours without both sides shooting our tails off. Figured we'd keep heading south until we flank your side and let you wander back in." 

"I can't just go to the nearest security checkpoint and surrender myself to the Alliance?" 

"Most likely take a bullet for your troubles." 

"From your side or mine?" 

Reynolds smiled grimly. "Both, probably." 

Jayne passed over a flask, and Simon took a swig, immediately coughing as his throat closed in protest. 

Reynolds grinned and Jayne bellowed in laughter. 

"What the hell is that?" Simon managed to gasp. 

"Got us a little girl in the motor pool named Kaylee what brews her own rotgut," Reynolds supplied. 

"Fresh, eh?" Jayne asked with a grin. 

Simon coughed and shuddered. "If by fresh, you mean: made an hour ago?" 

"Purt near," Zoe answered. 

"Might consider saving this for surgery. It's sure to kill any germ that ever thought about living," Simon replied, handing the flask back to Jayne amid the easy laughter. 

"Speaking of surgery," Simon forged ahead, "Want me to take a look at that?" he nodded in Reynolds direction. 

The Sarge looked down at his chest. "It's doing right fine, Doc. No need to trouble yourself." 

"Well," Simon deadpanned, and an ironic smile touching his lips, "I came all this way." 

He could hear Jayne chuckle. "Boy's got a point, Mal." 

Reynolds rolled his eyes, but tipped his head toward the tent, getting to his feet. 

Simon followed him. The man didn't enter the small tent, merely stood beside it and opened his shirt. Simon brushed the crucifix that hung around the sergeant's neck aside, and took a peek behind the fresh bandage, seeing a clean wound, nicely healing. His neat stitches stood out starkly black against the tan skin, with no redness to indicate infection. He peered closely, taking a sniff. Occasionally a wound would give off an odor if it were going septic. And under these conditions, that was all too likely. 

Reynolds caught his eye and gave him an odd look, but stood his ground, amusement dancing in his eyes. Having thoroughly embarrassed himself, Simon quickly explained what he was doing, replacing the bandage and taking vitals. 

Finally satisfied, he stepped away, indicating Reynolds could redress. "Someone's done a good job keeping it clean," Simon commented. 

"We've had more'n our fair share of battle scars. Not always lucky enough to have a Core-trained, Alliance doctor nearby." 

Simon conceded the point with a nod, stating, "At least, not one you haven't kidnapped." 

Reynolds grinned. "They are a loyal bunch, that's for sure." 

Suddenly Simon was sideswiped by a yawn. Astonished at himself, he grumbled, "I just got up!" 

Reynolds laughed at him, and clapped him on the back, turning him back to the fire. "But how many days were you up before that?" 

Simon scrubbed at his eyes. "I lost count." 

"Jayne said you were doing surgery in your sleep." 

"If I had, at least I would have gotten some shuteye." 

Reynolds patted the front of his chest. "This ain't the work of a sleepwalker, Doc." 

Simon yawned again as he took his seat next to Wash. "Thank you, Sergeant." 

* * *

After hearing the spy spill Reynolds plans to return the doctor, Commander Jubal Early was furious. 

That son of a bitch! Undermining his authority that way! 

Jubal Early was going to make Mal Reynolds pay. It wouldn't be enough for them just to interrogate Reynolds' pet doctor anymore. It was time for a more permanent solution. With extreme prejudice! 

* * *

Battlecruiser Blue Shield Orbiting Above Hera: 

Colonel Book looked down at the instructions he'd just been given. 

It seemed that the rebels had confiscated an Alliance doctor and he was being tasked to bring the young man home. 

Again that sense of shifting patterns crept up his spine. Book looked harder at the flexi with the young man's picture on it, turning it over to read the doctor's statistics. Nothing there gave him a clue as to why this boy should be a part of the puzzle, but the feeling wouldn't leave. 

Maybe when he got the young doctor back he would have to spend a little time interrogating him. Somehow the young man was important to the outcome of the war, but for the life of him, Book couldn't figure out how. 

Plan made, Book nodded to himself, then called to his aide and began to plan a rescue. 

* * *

Hera: 

Simon woke to the strangled light of dawn attempting to penetrate the clouds. Blinking his eyes open, he realized his nose was pressed into a brawny back. Looking down, there was a dark, feminine hand resting at his hip. Sitting up, he realized that it was Jayne sleeping in front of him (his arms wrapped an extremely large gun), and Zoe and Wash snuggled up behind. That explained why he was so toasty. How the hell they'd all managed to fit in the tent was beyond him. He didn't even remember falling asleep. 

His movements woke Zoe, and at her muted grumbled, he looked down to see her dark eyes peering up at him. 

"Sorry," he whispered an apology. 

Sleepily she rubbed her eyes. "Time to get up anyway, Doc." 

Simon crawled for the opening, taking a moment to gauge the weather before climbing to his feet. Inside the tent he could hear Zoe waking the others. Simon took a deep breath of air and fell into a coughing fit. His lungs weren't quite up to par yet. It finally subsided, and he sat down to pull on his boots, spending a minute awkwardly lacing them up. 

"Morning, Doc!" a voice greeted him, and he looked up to see Sergeant Reynolds waving him over to the fire. 

"Sergeant," he responded, scratching at his hair, as he got to his feet again. 

"Mud fleas," Reynolds pointed out helpfully. "Doesn't matter which side wins the war, the mud fleas will triumph." 

Simon grinned at him, and took a seat. "You certainly don't seem to let the conditions here get to you." 

"Been here before. Hera's a nasty wench when she wants to be. Don't take kindly to unwelcome visitors." 

"Would that be your side or ours?" 

Reynolds smiled. "After all the disaster inflicted, probably both." 

Simon again noticed the cross dangle from the sergeant's neck as he leaned forward to hand him a tin cup of hot coffee. 

"Seems strange to see a man like yourself still believing in God after all this fighting," Simon commented. 

"Almost lost my faith six years ago, son, the last time we were here on Hera." 

"You were at the Battle of Serenity?" 

"Yeppers. Thought we'd lost, seeing your side filling up the sky with ships. We managed to pull an end run that day, straight for the serpent's head. Scared 'em so bad they turned tail and run. God was with us that day." 

"Did you know the man who ordered the run? Harbatkin?" 

Reynolds' face brightened with a sly grin. "Nobody's allowed to know who the Hero of Serenity is, but we all know he didn't do it alone. Let's just say we were too pretty to lose, Doc." 

Simon shook his head and smiled despite himself. He admired the fact that the Sergeant seemed to make the best of a bad situation. Everyone knew the war was putting a terrible strain on both sides: physical, financial, and personal. 

Simon scratched at mud fleas again, stretching his legs toward the fire, and asked, "What are you going to do after the war. Provided it ever ends." 

Reynolds grinned at him. "Plan to get me a ship and fly, and never kiss dirt again." He tipped his cup at Wash and Zoe, as she joined Wash and took a seat. "Already got me a pilot and a first mate." 

"I wanna go," a voice added from nearby. 

"Sure, Jayne, you can come along. We could always use the muscle," Reynolds called back. 

"Long as we don't let him cook," Wash complained, "His culinary talents are near to killing us all." 

"Hey!" 

Zoe rolled her eyes at Jayne. 

"Maybe we should send him over to the other side with the Doc. One prepared meal from Jayne and they'd all be too busy in the latrine to fight," Wash prodded. 

"You wanna go, Little Man?" Jayne snarled. 

"As long as it's some place dry and carpeted," came the quick reply. 

"Amen to that," Reynolds chipped in. 

"Here here," added Simon, clinking tin cups with the sergeant. 

"What about you, Doc? What you going to do after the war?" Reynolds asked. 

"Back to Capitol City Hospital on Osiris. Got a position waiting for me. Going to try to catch up with my sister first." 

"Where's she?" Zoe asked, stealing Wash's cup of coffee, and taking a sip. 

"She went away to the Academy just before I left. Haven't seen her in three years." 

"Close?" Wash inquired. 

"She's a brat, but brilliant," Simon said with a fond smile, staring down into his cup. 

"Rumor has it the big wigs are gonna wrap up this party soon. Call it a draw and let each side go its own way," Jayne said, taking a seat next to Reynolds and reaching for the coffee. 

"It'd be nice to go home," Simon said wistfully. 

"Rich fella like you, probably already got his own estate and the like," Jayne commented, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out some rabbit jerky for his breakfast. 

"No," Simon grinned. "Just a small apartment near the hospital. At least, I used to. Most of my stuff is in storage." 

"Some don't got a home to go to no more," Jayne said, taking a guarded glace at his sergeant. 

"Those ghosts are long buried, Jayne," Reynolds responded soberly. "Best leave them lay." 

Zoe reached across Wash, and snagged Simon's cup from his hand. When he looked up in surprise, she nudged a couple of pills into his hand. "Heard you coughing earlier. Wouldn't do to send you back too sick to operate on us the next time we steal you." 

"Right. Wouldn't want that." Simon downed the pills and she handed him back his cup. 

Suddenly Reynolds radio crackled to life. Monty's voice boomed out, "Sarge, you got a patrol headed your way. It's Early's men." 

Reynolds rose to his feet, clicking the mike open. "Thanks, Monty. We'll take care of it." 

Turning to his people, he ordered, "Jayne, douse the fire. Zoe, break down the tent. Wash, get the gear stowed. Let's move it, people! And where the hell is Tracy? He's supposed to be on guard duty." 

The others raced off to follow order. Simon stood as well, eyes wide. "What do I do?" 

Reynolds made a grab for the back of his collar, and ran for the meager protection of a burned out building, pulling Simon along with him. "Keep down. They ain't gettin' their hands on you this time." 

"He's a commander. Doesn't he outrank you?" 

"Only if he catches me, son." 

* * *

Simon found himself huddled behind a meager pile of fallen bricks, Sergeant Reynolds by his side, sidearm out and ready. 

Around them, he could see the rest of Reynolds' band, hiding among the rubble, too. At a hand signal from the sergeant, they headed out, moving south, swiftly and silently. 

"Reynolds, you traitor, you bring that Purplebelly in, and we'll see to it that your people don't spend any time in the brig," a deep voice carried to them. 

Reynolds ignored the voice, pushing Simon ahead of him. When Simon's crouch wasn't low enough, a shot clipped the stones around him, sending brick chips at them. Reynolds hand landed on Simon's hair and pushed him lower. 

"Best keep your head down, Doc, iffn you want to keep it." 

Simon smothered a cough and nodded. 

Silently Reynolds pointed out Zoe's hiding place. "I want you to head over there. Stay low and Zoe'll get you home while we hold these boys off." 

Simon nodded again, and as Reynolds popped up to deliver deadly cover fire, Simon raced toward Zoe. He was halfway there when a grenade went off not a dozen feet away from him, the concussion enough to knock him off his feet. He landed in a small hollow, his ears ringing. 

Blinking up at the sky, he lay stunned a moment, until a shadow loomed over him. Zoe's mouth was open, yelling at him, but he couldn't hear anything above the buzz. He gazed stupidly up at her for a split second before she was tugging at his shoulder. Getting his mind working again, he rolled over, letting her pull him to his knees and forward. They stumbled and dashed to her former hiding place before she released him, letting him collapse against the embankment. He was blinking dust out of eyes, when he saw her gaze flick upwards, then she was pressing a piece of cloth to his head. He winched with the pain, then his own hand covered hers. 

He pulled the cloth down and saw it was bloody, then replaced it. She was still talking to him, but he still couldn't hear anything, ears still ringing. He thought her lips might have said, 'stay on my six', but he was only guessing. 

Clearly frustrated, Zoe jerked her head to the left and tugged on his jacket again. Swallowing a wave of nausea and a splitting headache, he crouched and followed her. They rounded a corner when the butt of a rifle lashed out and caught Zoe on the chin. If she cried out, Simon couldn't hear her. 

The rifle swung around until Simon was staring down its barrel. Raising his hands, he looked up into Jubal Early's dark face. The man grabbed his jacket and jerked him to his feet, slamming him up against an old tottering chimney, rifle barrel resting at the base of his throat. 

The slow grin that crossed his face made Simon shiver in terror. Like Zoe's words, Early's voice were lost to Simon, but he understood all to clearly the danger he was in as he was spun around and slammed back into the wall. His hands were twisted behind him and bound by rope. With another jerk, Early pulled him away from the wall, half a dozen men joining him as he dragged Simon along in his wake. 

Someone pulled out a rope and tossed one end over the skeletal remains of the building's framework, a hurried loop dangling down. Early grinned evilly down at Simon and slipped the noose over his neck. Oh, Yesu, they were going to hang him. Someone else found an old wooden box, and several men pushed and pulled the doctor until he stood shakily atop it. The box quivered with age under Simon's borrowed boots as he shivered and struggled to keep it under him. 

The sound of their victorious gunfire was starting to penetrate past the ringing in his ears, and Simon swallowed hard at the sight of the jubilant lynching party that surrounded him. 

He's once seen a program on the 'Devices of Death.' A lynching with a six foot drop was referred to as the Long Drop, generally resulting in a broken neck and a quick death. Considered more merciful. Then there was the Short Drop. Approximately a three foot drop, resulting in death by strangulation. Not quick. More than enough time for the victim to be aware that he is dying as they struggled and twisted, fighting for air. 

He watched as Early swung away from him, dramatically pulling out a large knife. Simon looked out to see what it was Early was looking at, finally spotting Sergeant Reynolds and his people in the distance. 

Wash was helping Zoe to stand, and Reynolds was on his feet, pistol in the air in surrender. Apparently they were exchanging words with his captors. Jayne was crouched, rifle at the ready, but reluctant to shoot at people on their own side of the war. Behind him, Tracy stood nervously, shifting from foot to foot. 

Finally the din in his ears lessened enough for Simon to make out words. 

"Cut him down, Early. It don't have to go down this way." 

"You want me to cut him down? I'd be happy to, Sergeant!" And with that, Early swung back around and plunged the oh-so-very-large knife into Simon's thigh. Simon screamed, bending double, almost plunging off the other side of the rickety box. His vision turned red with pain. The rope around his neck tightened and the scream cut short, turning into a choking cough. Some kind soul behind him pushed him upright again, and he managed to get his feet under him. 

Early looked up, admiring his work, casually dipping a finger into the blood flow and holding it up for Reynolds to see. "Would have thought it was blue with all the boy's highfaluting ways, wouldn't you?" Then Early shook his head. "Just plain red like the rest of us," he mused, wiping the blood away on Simon's pants, then looking up into Simon's face. "Does that seem right to you?" 

With cruel indifference, Early ignored Simon's gasp of pain as he pulled the knife back out. 

"None of this is right, Early. Let the boy go!" Reynolds yelled. 

Tracy moved from his protected position and came closer to the lynching party. Turning back to his sergeant, he said, "Let him hang, Sarge. He's just another Alliance tamade hundan what wants to kill us on this here rock." 

Reynolds looked at his own man as if he'd grown another head, before something clicked. He turned to fully face Tracy. "You were on perimeter, Tracy. You want to explain to me how these men got around you without you noticing?" 

"That's 'cuz I notified the Commander where we was hold up. We stole him and got you fixed. That's all we was looking to do, Sarge. You're better now. Ain't no need to stick our necks out for some Purplebelly. Let Early have him." 

"You're on a dangerous ground, Private!" Zoe snarled at Tracy. "Looking to join up with the Commander? Are you really ready to turn your back on those who been watching it for years?" 

"And look where that got me! It's six years gone and we're still stuck right back on this piece of mud rock, and no better for it. I want out! And if that means giving up some Core doctor, I say we do it!" 

"That ain't the way we do things, Tracy. And you know it! We're better than that." Reynolds yelled. 

"Let 'em hang!" Tracy screamed right back at him. 

The Sergeant pushed Tracy away from him in disgust, ignoring him as he landed on his butt. 

Instead he turned back to Early and again demanded the doctor's release. 

"Can't do it, Reynolds. And more to the point, I won't." Early laid a large hand on Simon's chest and, with cold calculation, pushed, kicking the box under him away at the same time. 

What none of them heard above the din of exuberant gunfire and conversation was the hushed whoop-whoop-whoop of a covert hovercraft flying overhead. As Early pushed Simon to his death, several things happened at once. 

Reynolds and Jayne raced to catch Simon before he could strangle to death. Men from the Cobra strike team, dressed all in black, rappelled away from the hovercraft, headed for the same destination. Two gunshots rang out simultaneously, one from above -- taking Early in the chest, making his heart explode instantly, body brushing by Simon's as he fell. The other was from Zoe's rifle, a long shot that pierced the swinging, stretched rope that Simon dangled from, shearing it in two. 

Simon dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, unable to loosen the rope enough to catch a breath with his hands tied behind him. Jayne barreled through the confused lynchers like a line-backer, making a path for Mal Reynolds, who reached Simon's side an instant later, loosening the noose and letting the poor doctor take a gasp of air. He pulled Simon up and rested the young man's back against his chest while the doctor coughed and wheezed. Deftly, Reynolds found that knife that Early had used to stab Simon's leg, and cut his hands free. 

A booming voice echoed from the hovercraft's speakers above them, ordering them away. A few well placed kicks and punches from Jayne had Early's men on the run and ducking for cover. 

Reynolds and Jayne looked up to find themselves surrounded by Alliance soldiers, weapons raised and pointed at their heads. 

"No, wait," Simon cried out in a strangled voice, hands coming up to ward off the Alliance soldiers. 

The strike team stood in a circle surrounding the three men, when their leader stepped forward. He removed the shaded helmet and the kindly brown eyes of an older black man stared down at them, then he walked over and knelt, placing one knee on the ground to get a good look at Simon. 

"Doctor Tam?" his deep voice intoned. 

Still coughing, Simon managed to nod and gasp out, "Don't hurt them!" 

Over the struggling doctor, the covert leader locked his eyes on Reynolds' face. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. 

"General Harbatkin, I presume?" he asked with wry amusement. 

"You'll never get me to admit it," Mal grinned back at him. "Colonel Book, isn't it?" 

"At your service, Sir." 

The two stared at each other a moment, giving each other the respect of fellow warriors, worthy adversaries, and honorable men. 

Behind Reynolds, Jayne stood uneasily, still primed and ready for action should the sergeant call for it. On the ground caught between them, Simon struggled to look from one to the other in confusion. 

"What have they told you about commandeering Alliance personnel, Sergeant?" Book gently admonished Reynolds, as he reached down and secured a tourniquet around Simon's leg. 

"That it was... manly and impulsive?" 

Book chuckled. "Yes, but I believe it sounded more like: Don't do it again." 

"Ah, must have missed something in my Alliance-to-Independent Translation Dictionary." 

"The Brass does so frown on you stealing people. And they probably won't be too happy with the young doctor, either." 

"You know," Reynolds grinned, "If it's a problem, we'd be happy to take the doc off your hands." 

The Colonel smiled benignly. "I don't believe that will be necessary. Getting kidnapped once a campaign is more than enough, right, Doctor?" 

Simon just stared at the polite adversaries, bewildered. 

"Think you two could have your ruttin' tea party when I don't have quite so many guns pointed at my head?" Jayne groused. 

Colonel Book turned away, amused, and was about to call for a stretcher when a man came tearing across the field at them, screaming wildly in white-hot anger, rifle blazing. 

Guns from both sides sprang into action, blazing back, stopping Tracy in his tracks. Tracy landed first on his knees, surprise and betrayal crossing his face, his hands losing their hold on the gun, before he fell face forward into the mud, dead, new boots muddied with his own blood, his ticket off Hera coming in the form of a coffin. 

Cautiously, Book turned back to Reynolds, who still sat in the middle of the circle of Alliance soldiers, supporting the young doctor. Quietly, intently ignoring all else, Reynolds loosened and removed the rope around the boy's neck, unwilling to look out at the fellow soldier who had betrayed him. 

Simon clutched one hand to his throat and the other to his leg. 

"I need a stretcher," Book called. One of the men around them acknowledged the command and relayed it through his radio. Moments later a carry basket was being lowered down from the craft. 

Efficiently, the Cobra team loaded the young doctor into the mobile stretcher. The stretcher was hoisted up, and Simon reached out a hand to the man who had just saved his life. "Thank you, Sergeant." 

"Just returning the favor, Doctor." 

Colonel Book nodded to his men and the stretcher was lifted toward the hovercraft. With a respectful nod, Book and his men latched onto the dangling ropes and ascended to the craft above. 

Jayne and Reynolds watched the craft rise, feeling Zoe join them. 

"Good man, the doc," Reynolds commented. 

"Yep," Zoe agreed. 

"How the hell did he stay so clean clear out here, ya think?" Jayne asked. "Even all covered in mud, he still looked kind of... I don't know... pristine." 

"Must be that Core shine. It just don't come off," the Sergeant answered. 

"Think we'll ever see him again?" Zoe wondered aloud. 

"No," Jayne replied. 

"Never know," Mal said thoughtfully. "Be a good man to have as our medic if we ever get our own ship." 

Zoe smiled, even as Jayne mummered, "Well, yeah. But you'd never get him to ship out with you. Too rich. Boy's too fancy." 

"Never underestimate the draw of the Black, Jayne." 

* * *

Alliance Facility, Location Unknown: 

It was over. The rogue had been neutralized, new alliances were forged, and the old soldier was rediscovering honor. Freedom was coming, sooner rather than later. The players had met and the new combinations would craft the future. 

At this rate she'd be out of here in no time and reunited with her brother. 

River smiled. 

* * *

The End

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Captain Doctor**   
Author:   **KMS**   [website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **PG**  |  **gen**  |  **76k**  |  **05/30/05**   
Characters:  Malcolm, Zoe, Wash, Jayne, Simon, River, Book   
  



End file.
